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*
Gen had grimaced at the thought of herself in ankle-breaking stilettos and sweat-trapping leather. Even so, when she flipped through her wardrobe, she'd been unsatisfied. She had a basic black cocktail dress and some cute things she'd worn for dates or quick crushes that hadn't turned into anything. Nothing felt right for this.
She told herself buying something super special would doom her expectations to disappointment because of the height to which a new outfit could propel them. Despite that, she'd stopped at her favorite outlet store Wednesday and visited the discount rack. She'd found a dress she liked, and the price had talked her into it.
Thursday night, she made a late night run to Walmart--sans Eeyore pajamas--and she had what she needed to touch up her color, giving her brown hair shiny highlights and making the roots vanish.
So here she was on Saturday night, going overboard for her unlikely adventure at a BDSM club. The dress was a pine-colored green like her eyes, with cap sleeves and vee neckline. The fabric of the dress was gathered in tiny folds at the waistline, an hourglass-shaping design that ran down to the mid-thigh hem, scalloping away to reveal her thighs. That same tight fold pattern was in back as well, flattering the shape of her ass.
Bringing out her airbrush kit, a keeper from her days as a beautician, she did a nighttime makeup application so her green eyes glowed from a frame of thick lashes, enhanced by the brown eye shadow she used. She brushed and curled her hair, clipping it high in back, and pulled some of those lighter-streaked pieces out from the brown, letting them curl around her face, soften it.
It had been a long time since she'd dressed up. Had the last time been Chloe's wedding? Even then, she hadn't really focused on being sexy. Tonight, she felt sexy, female. Young. She wasn't old, yet she'd gotten in the habit of feeling that way. She tried to remember the last time she'd let herself get infatuated with the possibilities of a date. She couldn't. As each candle had been snuffed out by incompatibility, her glow for it had dimmed further, until a hot bath, book and hanging out with crafting friends had sounded more appealing. Safer. What a depressing thought.
Despite her reservations about getting so dolled up, she couldn't deny it helped fuel her excitement about tonight. This wasn't about romance, not exactly, but it was sexual in an exciting way. Her escort was a male who definitely fascinated her. And then there was the woman who "temporarily" owned him. Thinking about a range of possible reactions from either one of them, Gen thought she was like a Coca-Cola, a tingly, fizzy feeling coursing through her blood. Executing a slow turn, she looked at herself from all angles in the floor-length mirror. She'd worn two-inch black pumps on her feet. No stockings. Her legs were good enough not to need them. She'd forgotten she had good legs. And really nice breasts.
Her ass could use work, but most women thought that. She blamed that on Chloe's baked goods, but thinking of what Noah had said about waking up against a soft ass drove any self-denigration away. All in all, she thought she looked pretty damn good. At least here in her bedroom, where she wouldn't suffer in comparison to anyone else.
This was foolish. Too much. She needed to change into jeans and a spangly top, just like Chloe had implied. But that would be wasted money on the dress, and Gen felt strongly about wasting money.
Noah would be there, and so would Lyda. As much as she told herself this wasn't a typical date, and definitely not a three-way date, her mind was churning over the possibilities. She was going to a BDSM club, where sex would be up front and foremost in everyone's mind.
"All right. Enough. This is what they're getting. Tonight will be whatever I want it to be. Nothing I don't want. I'm in control."
Flipping off the bathroom light, she went to hunt up her purse and keys before she lost her nerve.
*
She'd never been to The Zone. Typical of many adult clubs, it wasn't in the best area of town, but she saw Tyler's influence in the ownership. Security personnel patrolled the parking lot, and a complimentary shuttle circled through to offer rides to the door, a boon to women in icepick heels. She saw plenty of those, and the women wore clothes to match the shoes, which made her glad she'd worn what she'd worn. While she saw some casual street garb, the place had that festive, dress-up feeling classy clubs emanated after sunset.
She hadn't expected to see anyone wearing scanty bondage wear in the parking lot, but plenty of the members carried purses or totes large enough to contain a change of clothes, or other things her wild imagination couldn't help but entertain. Whips, chains...
Some only carried a small handbag, however, reassuring her that she wouldn't be the only one here just to watch. For them, the BDSM might be merely a titillating floor show. She expected that provided a good balance, since some of those who actively participated might like having an audience.
Did Noah like being on display while his Mistress was dominating him? Did Lyda get off on people watching her do that? When she imagined Lyda binding Noah and doing a wide variety of sexual things to him, Gen wasn't sure how she felt about it, mind-wise, but her body obviously had no problem with the idea.
The thump of music coming from within reminded her that there was a great dance floor and DJ, according to Chloe. Another clue that the activities inside weren't all about the D/s games. It made her feel a little better, a little less self-conscious. She shouldn't feel self-conscious, though. That was for people who cared what other people thought about them, and she was supposed to be way past that.
Yet this was what happened when a cautious person left her comfort zone and tried something so freaking brand new it might just change her entire life. A car horn beeped, startling her back to the here and now. She'd stopped just short of the curb, the car owner reminding her she was standing in the flow of incoming traffic. She gave a startled hop up onto the curb, touching her hair self-consciously and staring at the red carpet leading into the double doors. Silver lettering slashed across the smoky glass. The Zone.
She propelled herself into motion. The two security people at the entrance, one female and one male, opened the doors for her with polite efficiency and watchful eyes. The woman gave her a reassuring look, though, telling Gen she must look nervous.
Noah had said he'd be watching for her between eight and nine. It was a few minutes after nine, so she thought she'd have to page him. Instead, she saw him right away. There was a lounge just beyond the hostess' station, and he was in a small booth by himself. He rose the moment she crossed the threshold.
He'd waited for her. One part of her felt guilty for being late, but the look on his face when he saw her flattered her beyond description. There was no mistaking the expression of a man who felt every minute he'd waited had been worth it.
On her side of that equation, he made her pulse accelerate to the urgent beat of the dance floor music. He was wearing some type of slick leather pants. No shirt. The silver and black thin braided cord was double-wrapped around his throat, and the matching ones were back on his wrists. His long hair was in a sexy tousle, loose on his shoulders, his brown eyes fastened on hers like a sleepy wolf who'd just woken up.
She was a thirty-something woman who could handle all this in a mature manner. Yet when she clung to that gaze, she was reminded of a film she'd watched where a teenaged hero had touched the young heroine's jaw in a key moment. He'd stilled her fears by drawing her attention to his eyes, to the assurance there that all would be well. He'd done it with such surety
, making it clear all his attention was on her care. Their youth hadn't really mattered. It was a simple heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul communication, recognized and desired by all ages.
She followed her more carnal desires now, letting her gaze course downward. The pants were low on his waist, below his hip bones. He had the lithe rock-star build to pull off such a look well. From the glances that followed him when he passed other tables, his ass must look irresistible in the tight pants. The front view was nothing to be sneezed at, his groin nicely substantial. Yet he seemed neither self-conscious nor like he was flaunting it. As he approached, his gaze was traveling over every inch of her. She wanted to touch him too, and so a breath caught in her throat as he kept coming, right into the grasp of her eager hands.
He curved a hand alongside her neck, under her hair, and lowered his mouth to hers. She leaned into him, letting his strength support her as his other arm circled her waist. Sliding her hands around him, she hooked her thumbs in the low ride of the pants. Then she couldn't help herself. She cupped his ass and found yes, the people who'd sent him covetous looks were absolutely right. His ass felt awesome. And of course there was nothing under that thin, slick covering but him. Her abdomen was pressed against the decidedly firm package of cock and testicles.
He hadn't kissed her this weekend, and she hadn't given him the opportunity when she dropped him off. She wasn't making that mistake twice. When she lifted on her toes, he took it as the invitation it was. His tongue teased her lips open and delved in to play, the pierced stud caressing her moist flesh as his fingers tightened in her hair. She wasn't thinking, wasn't planning, anticipating, worrying. She hadn't realized how getting dressed up in a sexy dress, being in an environment like this, would prep her for a state where inhibition was clearly less important than letting oneself feel.
"You look incredible," he said against her mouth. "Lyda's going to eat you in three bites."
